


Sprinklers

by WallSpin



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22981234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WallSpin/pseuds/WallSpin
Summary: Qi didn’t even know what qi were sad about. Sometimes it got set off by a spiral of savage thoughts, looping and looping and filling the well bit by bit. This was just the sprinklers going off from dust rising into the sensors on a hot day, no warning, no explanation or reason. And it didn’t matter one bit, whether qi had done it to qimself or if it was just qim waking up to a day where qir head wanted to kill qim, the end result was the same. Both felt just as awful.
Relationships: Ancom&Authcom
Comments: 7
Kudos: 70





	Sprinklers

The room was dim and musty, lit up only by the harsh glare of a laptop screen. It stank to high hell, but that could just be that qi were trapped in close proximity to qir own pits. Qi had stuck something onto youtube a while back, turned on autoplay and let it go. It was just a noise to zone out to really, didn’t matter what exactly was playing. Just something to keep qim grounded, to not stray from the strange liminal emotionless void into all out misery. Self care almost, if you could call sitting in your own stench and doing nothing all day that.

Qi thought a little about maybe checking the time. Qi couldn’t tell if qi were tired enough to sleep yet, a combination of not quite  _ feeling _ qir own body and the effect of the screen, but qi would probably be able to time an easy collapse into bed if qi knew the hour. It felt like the harder qi tried to focus on the decision, the further away from qim it flew. Like qir brain was just, TV static. Qi sighed and let qimself get drawn back into the screen, playing repetitive episodes of how it’s made, comforting in it’s inanity.

The next time qi next surfaced a little, it was the dim light peeking under and around the curtains that did it. It made the dust motes around the very edges seem to sparkle, qi would probably find it prettier if qi were high. As it was, it just made qim notice the overflowing trash can underneath, as the particulates drifted down to settle on it. Qi should empty it at some point. Probably not healthy.

While qi stared with bloodshot eyes, qi heard a small gurgle. The toilet flushing? No, not quite. It came again a moment later. Oh, stomach. Qi moved qir eyes back over to the laptop, only to find that it had gone dim, finally running out of power. A sign to eat and try to sleep, qi supposed. Qi didn’t move to sate it.

Letting one bodily need get through seemed to open the floodgates however, and all of a sudden qi could _feel_ , too sharp and too harsh after hours of nothingness. Qir stomach was a black hole, a shrunken up walnut still somehow attached to the rest of qir guts, qir bladder stung where even qir loose pants were snug around it, and qir head ached, pounding slowly as if a patient torturer was methodically letting a tire iron fall to land on qir temples. Qir eyes stung, qir back ached, qi felt weak and shit and tired and uncomfortably wired, and  _ fuck. _

It took ten harsh breaths, and digging qir nails cruelly into qir palms, but it passed. Time to move.

_ Stand up, idiot. _

Qi stood up.

_ Walk over to the door. Open it. _

Qir feet obeyed, and qi dealt with the way qir eyes had watered a little during the  _ too much, too fast,  _ of a second ago. The door opened easily enough, despite qir numb hands.

_ Go to the bathroom. Piss. _

The hallway passed quickly, and qi made it there. Qi got through qir business with no issue, until qi were standing in front of the mirror about to wash qir hands.

_ God we look like shit. _

Fuck off.

_ What, would it kill you to fucking shave, slob. Not making the most effort to not like a guy there dude. _

Leave me alone. Just, fucking. What should I do next?

Qi felt vaguely sick, in that stupid way dysphoria hit qim sometimes.

_ What if we just stood here for a while and thought about how you should stop trying? There’s probably a razor in here somewhere. _

You’re such a dick. We don’t do that anymore.

_ We don’t? _

Qi managed to look away to the floor, hands stuck on the edge of the sink like limpets. Qi couldn’t do more, couldn’t get together the energy to move towards the door to do the rest of what qi needed to do without relying on the dumb abstraction of the part of qir brain that was still thinking somewhat clearly. Well, thinking clearly enough to be feeling all of the bad shit qi were trying not to feel, and consequently being a fucking dick because of it.

Please.

_ Whatever. Go to the kitchen. _

Qi left the bathroom without washing qir hands. The stairs creaked as qi padded down them, qi had to wince at how loud it was.

_ Open the fridge. _

Qi did, then just stood there staring for a while to see if there was anything qi could eat inside. It was all just ingredients, no leftovers qi could just microwave, nothing easily snacked on. Qi could, fry some bacon? A small bitter snort left qim.

Fuck. Fuck this. Qi closed the fridge door, lay back against it, and just sat there. Not quite sure if qi were fine or close to tears. Maybe qi could just have a nap here. Yeah. That sounded good.

* * *

Qi hadn’t managed to fall asleep, just disengaged with reality more than before for a while. Fairly easy to do, staring at the ceiling in silence, nothing much going on around qim.

“Ancom.”

Someone was talking at qim. Qi should probably listen to them, reply. Qi just closed qir eyes.

“Are you high? I need to use the fridge comrade.”

Oh, Commie. Qi should  _ really  _ respond.

“Anarkiddie.” He sounded angry now. And closer. “Are you listening to me?”

A sigh. And then he must have reached out, because Ancom could feel his hand shaking qir shoulder. Reluctantly, qi opened qir eyes. Qi tried to parse the look on Tankie’s face, but it was just, ugh. It wasn’t even that it wasn’t an expression qi couldn’t understand normally, qir brain just wouldn’t do it right now, so he might as well be wearing a fairground mask for all qi could pick up.

What had Commie wanted? Something about the fridge. Why couldn’t he use the fridge?

“What have you taken?” He was speaking slowly, patient in a sort of condescending way.

“Nothing.” Qi muttered, finally. And oh! Qi were lying on the fridge, that was it. “I can- um,” Qi staggered upright, “I can sit over there, sorry.” Qi gestured just to the other side of the kitchen, over by some cupboards.

Commie was still holding onto qim, not satisfied apparently.

“I can tell you have taken something, I am not idiot.” God, was this how he always spoke to qim when qi were high? Dick. Qi didn’t reply, just tugged where qir arm was held. 

When it didn’t prompt him to let go, qi tried words again, clumsy as they felt. “I’m just, tired. Let me go Tankie.” The horrible helpless frustration that had gotten the better of qim earlier was rising again, only this time qi couldn’t opt out of the trigger, Commie’s grip was tight. Shit. The feeling seemed to mix quickly, a chemical reaction with the pit in qir chest, accelerating and bubbling until it spewed over the edges, and qi were crying. Not the arms length easy to stop kind that had happened earlier, a proper breaking of the dam that qi were helpless to stop.

“Гавно.” Commie swore.

Qir sobs sounded ugly even to qir ears, like qi were choking on them, full of snot and sweat. Commie had let go in shock as soon as it had started, but qi were paralysed by the awful mess crawling up qir throat. Qi could feel temperature suddenly, but only the burning horrible flush radiating from qir chest registered fully. It didn’t stop, the burning in qir eyes from the shitty mix of salt water and tired eyes only egged it on, like an engineer shoveling coal into the engine. Qir head joined the human conveyor belt, pounding in protest at losing more water. 

Qi didn’t even know what qi were sad  _ about.  _ Sometimes it got set off by a spiral of savage thoughts, looping and looping and filling the well bit by bit. This was just the sprinklers going off from dust rising into the sensors on a hot day, no warning, no explanation or reason. And it didn’t matter one bit, whether qi had done it to qimself or if it was just qim waking up to a day where qir head wanted to kill qim, the end result was the same. Both felt just as awful.

At some point Commie had drawn qim into a hug, tucked qir head into his neck and awkwardly petted at qir back. He was saying something, but Ancom just focused on the warmth, let it slowly calm down the waterworks.

It stopped eventually, leaving qim wrung out like a dishtowel like always.

"Can I, can I go please." Qi said, sounding stupid and weak and miserable.

Commie seemed to hug qim tighter at that, saying, "Ancom, no, just let me get you water and food, da?"

"I'm not hungry," Qi lied. "I'm- I'm fine."

Commie sounded frustrated as he said, "You are still crying!" When Ancom flinched slightly at the tone, he spoke more calmly, "We are not individualists, da? Let me take care of you."

Qi couldn't bring qimself to say anything else, but qi nodded into Commie's chest. The man sighed, relieved maybe.

After a few more pats to the back, Commie unwrapped himself from around qim and led qim over to the garish stools Ancap had insisted on buying. Once qi were sitting there, Commie looked qim over, his brow furrowed at something or other.

“You are shivering. Are you cold?”   
  
“Can’t tell.” Qi answered truthfully. Having gotten most of the crying done, the numbness was slipping back in.

“What does that mean? Seriously comrade, what have you taken?” Commie was feeling qir forehead, checking for a temperature Ancom supposed. Qi let him do what he wanted.

“I’m not high.” Qi repeated again, feeling vaguely indignant. “I’m just, disassociating I think. And tired.”

“Alright.” He still sounded vaguely doubtful, but whatever. “Well you seem cold, so you will have my blazer.”

Qi made an acquiescent noise, and Commie draped the red shirt over qim like a blanket. He left qim with a cup of water and a tissue, before moving over to the main area of the kitchen and starting to make some pancakes. They must have been those russian ones he liked (blinis?) because he got out some beef and onion as well as the usual pancake ingredients. It was easier to calm down now that he wasn’t focusing on qim so hard, making qim worry about worrying him.

Once qi had drunk a little bit, and wiped away some of the mess qi had made of qir face, qi slumped over the table. With the closest thing in sight being qir arms, qir thoughts wandered, until qi were reflexively picking at the skin on qir wrist, strangely enraptured by how little it hurt as compared to usual. Qi did manage to stop before the slight redness and white half moons became actual bruises or blood.

Not soon enough for Tankie not to notice though, it seemed. He set down his plate of food quickly when he saw, and grabbed onto qir hand. Qi felt a bit guilty for the look that spread across his face, all upset confusion.

“You hurt your hand.” He was running a thumb across the abused patch, trying to be soothing maybe?

“Sorry.”

“You are only sorry that it hurt me.”

No real way to respond to that. Commie cleared his throat once it became evident that Ancom had come to that conclusion, and pushed the food in front of qim.

“Eat. You will feel better.”

It was probably true, qi couldn’t help but doubt it either way. The two of them ate in silence, Commie sending qim awkward glances every minute or so. Rationally, Ancom could tell that the food was good, hearty in the best way, flavorful but not overwhelmingly so. Perfectly good comfort food. It went down qir throat like paste, nonetheless.

“I really am fine, Commie.” Qi tried a final time. The lie came out sounding a lot more believable now that qi were fed and watered, but qi could tell from the look on his face that Commie hadn’t bitten.

“You will be fine.” He seemed to be amping himself up, like he was reciting one of his speeches or something. “We will make sure you are fine comrade.”

He deflated after that, running out of steam. He continued, less energy and spark, more care and softness, “Come and stay with me in my room for today, da? You can nap while I do some work. You look tired.”

That- that honestly sounded nice.

“Okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> Depression is fucking weird shit dude. I'm still not over the fact that I used to like, talk to myself? In my head? As like a way of getting myself to do anything whatsoever. The crazy sad spells mixed with just, no emotions whatsoever, the way you can kinda sometimes tell what's making you feel bad and take steps to make it better, but sometimes you just really have no idea what it is, and you just feel absolutely horrible for no reason whatsoever. And then you look back like a month later and go _OOOHHHH_ shit that's what it was.
> 
> Either way, thank *fuck* for antidepressants, they're not magic, and you still gotta put in effort for them to do their job, but it's a hell of a lot better haha. Oh and actually finally getting to start T. Tfw you're not horribly dysphoric 24/7 anymore :O


End file.
